Pacifist
by temp0ral
Summary: This was originally a small fic of snippets, all regarding how Frisk would fare in CHB- between demigods, monsters, and Greek deities, introduced to a lifetime of promised fighting and weaponry. Everything got thrown for a loop when an angry ghost finds their way to an interesting host.
1. Part I

**I will say this right now: this fic, both in summary and chapter content, is subject to constant changes and revisions. This will not affect the story timeline, but it will change around wording. Making things clearer or adding more sentence variation and all that jazz. And as time goes on my views on characters will chance, so you might spot changes in the nuances in behavior.**

 **Okay. I'm done now- I'll leave you to your reading. Good night.**

* * *

Nobody know what to think of Frisk, except that they were extremely friendly. They never threatened anybody out of anger except threatening to be their friend-in fact, pretty much nobody ever had the choice of _not_ being their friend. They were far too determined for their own good, but sometimes it was a good thing.

Frisk was also unclaimed, and not one demigod knew where to sort them. If there's three words to describe the kid, it's "merciful," "determined," and "scattered."

A lot of people thought they belonged in the Hermes cabin.

Frisk was extremely quick on their feet. It was rare to see anybody land a hit on them- dodging was just natural, and not even surprise attacks worked. They were always, always, one step ahead-literally. Not to mention they had a surprising tendency to pick things from the ground, and a skill for snooping and sneaking.

Some others thought they belonged with Demeter.

For some reason, they took great care in managing the gardens of the cabin, trimming and watering grasses and growing the flowers. They even have a small, four-by-four plot of golden flowers for themselves, which is flourishing greatly. (There's a sharpie-d on face on the white center of one of the flowers.)

There were the thoughts of Eirene, the goddess of peace, for obvious reasons. Frisk had never, ever, raised the small and worn Celestial bronze knife against another camper to harm, only ever to train in the emergency case they needed to fight. The one time they had slain a hellhound to protect a kid from Aphrodite, they'd thrown down the knife in disgust and walked away, holding their stomach.

A couple kids thought Hades. The idea was reasonable, but unpopular.

Nico and Frisk got along well, and on occasion played Mythomagic into the night. Not only that, but Nico and Frisk actually took trips into the Underworld to hang out with a few select skeleton sentries via shadow travel, which eventually became a regular thing.

Everyone agreed that they were a strange child.

* * *

"Fresh meat."

Frisk turned around. There stood a tall and imposing girl and a band of other kids with a rough demeanor and rugged looks that gave off vibes of _bad time_. She'd be harder to befriend than anyone else, but they were determined.

"Hey, newbie, what's wrong with your eyes? You blind or something?"

Frisk's tour guide spoke up, a cute redhead from the Demeter cabin. "No, but you might be." It was a weak comeback and they all knew it. The buff girl scowled.

"You think you're so smart, punk? Why don't you face me in Capture the Flag tonight?" Silence. She laughs. "Hah. I knew it. Anyway, you." She turned to Frisk. "Anyway, you." Her mouth upturned in a snarl. Or a smile. It was hard to tell. "We've got a ritual for the newbie kids."

Frisk got the itching feeling they were gonna have to bolt right about now. They stepped back from her reaching hand and hit that [* FLEE ] button as hard as they could.

* * *

The first time, Nico warned them that as a living non-Hades demigod in the Underworld, stray ghosts or demons could afflict them.

"It's dangerous for a kid like you," he said. "There are angry spirits that could invade your head and possess you to commit murder, or something."

Frisk laughed. "Someone will stop me. You guys are all better at fighting than I am. Come on, I wanna hang out with some skeletons."

"They're spartoi, vicious weapons of war. They know no mercy, only war and several unconventional ways to kill a man."

"Whatever."

* * *

Dodging training was very advanced for Frisk. They had the reflexes and the moves to stay alive for a good amount of time in most fights, but attacks were weaker than average.

There was one time which was an especially bad day for them. In the training arena, a small competition was held: whoever could land a hit on Frisk first won. They were too nice to decline being the punching bag.

Round after round and Frisk wove and ducked and rolled and sidestepped each attack, volleys of arrows and flurries of swords, axes, war scythes and even bullets. It was getting harder to dodge. They were getting really tired. But the campers (most, anyway) cheered on.

Then, Clarisse was up. After bolting from their first meeting they'd learned her name. She came on fast and furious, and it was difficult task to avoid them all when you were tired and your opponent was so absolutely bent on recompense. Dodge. Weave. Duck. Roll. Sidestep. Step back. Slide behind her.

Unsurprisingly, it was the cabin leader of Ares who'd gotten the hit in: a slice from the arm that jumped to the chest.

Frisk was crying, clutching their chest, injured arm limp. They weren't built for fighting, much less pain tolerance, and something like this was too much as a first major wound. They curled in on themself, lying in a fetal position on their side, bleeding on the dusty ground. Campers were running out of the arena to get help, while the few Apollo kids there were running forward to provide medical aid.

The glory of winning had left Clarisse. She won, she got revenge. Why did she feel so bad?

* * *

"… I guess I'm just tryin' to say… sorry. If you don't forgive me, fine. I deserve it."

"I forgive you." The response was almost immediate.

Her head snapped up. "What?"

"I forgive you. It's fine."

[ MERCY ]


	2. Part II

Looking back on it, it happened pretty early into coming to camp, but they hadn't noticed it. It was too small an occurrence to get them to tell anyone.

"There are angry spirits that could invade your head and possess you to commit murder, or something."

That was very accurate, Frisk thought.

 _Shut up._

* * *

Back when Frisk was hanging out with Nico and the skeletons, everything was going fine. This wasn't the first trip to the Underworld and definitely not the last, but it was a turning point of sorts. Frisk felt... something, like a dread manifested in a heavy cloud that settled over them. They felt a shudder down their spine.

"D... do you guys feel that?"

Nico looked up, worry passing over his face. It was rare he made friends with kids like Frisk. Those people tended to be too overbearing, too sympathetic, but there was something about them that made them so… tolerable, for lack of a better word.

"Feel what?" he asked. When he didn't get a response, he spoke again. "Frisk?"

And just like that the feeling vanished, but they couldn't shake the feeling that something had definitely happened- and it wasn't just nerves. Frisk laughed in an attempt to pass the subject. "It's nothing! Don't worry about me."

* * *

The first time it happened, they didn't know what the heck was going on.

A new camper had dashed into the forest. A reason why wasn't provided to them, but they had the feeling it was out of denial and disbelief. It wouldn't be the first time. Assigned as one of the campers to search for the newbie, they'd gone into the forest armed with nothing but their small knife. A knife was all they needed.

As time went on and their thoughts drifted, they began to realize they hadn't been the one moving their legs. Frisk had _forgotten_ about walking.

Someone was doing it for them.

 _That's right._

They almost outwardly cursed but stopped themselves quickly-there was someone speaking in their head and they didn't like it, it was invasive and awful and if that presence was controlling Frisk's limbs, they did not like where this was going. In a world of magic, monsters, and "best-case-scenarios" consisting of barely coming out alive by the end of it, they could only assume the worst.

They were being possessed.

 _You would be correct._

 _No-no, stop it,_ they thought, trying to fight back, move their own limbs, anything, heck even blink. But nothing. They couldn't move themselves. Frisk was nearly powerless. But as the unwanted visitor trudged them along through the forest, looking for the lone demigod, they remembered that there was one thing left they could do. It was what they did best.

[ ACT ]

* Talk

(No check button?)

 _Who are you?_

There was a long pause. Frisk listened to the birds and the bugs, to the rustle of the foilage as they stepped through the forest.

 _... I am Chara._

 _How did you get here?_ , they thought. _I thought this camp was protected._

 _It is. But the underworld is not._

 _Oh. Oh no._

 _At first, I did not want to alert the campers of my presence. I held the mentality that patience would be my ally. But as time whittled on, I grew impatient. I didn't want to wait. So when the perfect opportunity fell into my hands, who was I to waste it?_

 _What do you want?_

 _It is simple. I want to destroy._  
 _You cannot stop me._

* * *

Frisk was internally screaming, because they couldn't do it outwardly.

There he was. The lost camper, and Frisk- _Chara_ -was the first, by the looks of it.

"Hello!" they said.

Surprisingly, Chara relented and let go. Frisk was back in control.

What are you doing? they thought. No response. Well, they were going to try and stay in control in the case of any sudden reappearances. They were _very_ on edge.

"Who are _you_?" the kid sneered. Frisk assumed the contempt was from the want to be alone, the stress of the situation, and the fact that Frisk was younger than the other.

"I'm Frisk." They smiled and held out a hand to shake.

"That's a stupid name." The boy turned his back to Frisk, staring out over the glade he was found in. A few moments passed until it began to get awkward, the boy sitting and Frisk standing in the same spot. Absently, they wondered if they'd left behind footprints.

He spoke again. "I'm... Ryan."

"It's nice to meet you, Ryan."

Frisk walked forward and sat down next to him on the log, joining him in his empty gazing on the grass and bugs. They watched as he drew in on himself, wrapping his arms around his torso and drawing up his legs. "... Why did you come for me?"

"Because I care about you. Listen, I know all of this is really weird, but you can't run away for it. If you wanted alone time, you could have just sat inside one of the camp cabins, you've made everyone worried. There are monsters in the forest."

"Yeah, I know."

Minutes ticked away in silence. There was the occasional rustle of a searching camper way in the distance, but strangely enough, nobody came close to this spot. Otherwise everything was normal: the far-away howls of monsters, birds singing and flowers blooming. The sky was a perfect blue.

"Come on," they said, standing up and offering a hand to the demigod. "You're gonna get bug bites out here. And you'll miss dinner."

They could see Ryan was unsure of whether or not to trust them, a tentative and skeptical look passing over his face. Eventually he put his hand in Frisk's, which was smaller and more delicate than his.

* * *

 _"You're so stupid."_

Frisk's hand flicked and squeezed. There was an audible crack from Ryan's hand, then again as their other hand swung around to crush his wrist. The boy cried out and his knees buckled to the ground.

 _No. No! What are you doing? Chara!_

Frisk's stomach became a pit of cold, gripping fear, making them shudder. Internally.

 _Did you really think I was gone?_

Their heart clenched at the sight of Ryan's face twisting into pain, fear, and worst of all, complete and utter betrayal. They were practically thought-screaming to tell them to stop, but Chara refused as they kicked Ryan to the ground, wrapping their legs around the other's to prevent escape. They didn't need to pin down his uninjured arm. Chara could see the paralyzing fear.

 _"I never told you which monsters were in this forest."_

And they laughed. It was sickening to hear. Chara's high-pitched peals ringed loudly over the forest, grabbing Frisk's knife from its sheath, eyes wide with rampant hunger for blood. Teeth bared in a curved smile, white and sharp and deadly as Death's own scythe. Their grip on the knife hardened. Frisk wanted to vomit, sick with the thought of killing someone. But Chara wasn't finished yet.

Just as quick the manic expression turned into blatant fear.

Frisk screamed and the knife went to the side, digging itself hilt-deep into the soft earth.

There was a heavy pause. Only the sound of each of their heavy breaths hung in the air, before Ryan regained his wits and shoved Frisk off, bolting into the woods. They didn't resist being thrown off, only stared at the knife.

They'd almost killed the boy.

Their legs were weak after that encounter, and leaned against a tree to upchuck everything in their stomach. They wiped their mouth on some oak leaf to try and get rid of the taste. Hopefully the dryads didn't mind. Jesus, they… they could have killed him. They could have _killed him._

...

 _How interesting._

Their head snapped up. Frisk's disgust was replaced by more disgust and a downright, boiling rage- a rare sight for someone so patient and friendly. Their hands flew to the sides of their head as if that could restrain Chara to the conscience and not to the body, shouting into the air.

 _"Get out!"_ they screamed _. "Get out! Get out! I hate you! I hate you! I wish you'd fly back to Tartarus!"_

"Frisk?"

Oops. They whirled around.

It was Nico.

* * *

 **One of these days I will replace all the dashes with proper ones.**


	3. Part III

**Ahaha. Sorry this took a while. I've got a lot of ideas but can't seem to put them on paper, you know? Just be patient with me here. I'm more an artist than a writer. You've seen my profile bio, I can barely scrape up enough muse for a drabble lmao.**

 **Also, if anyone's too OOC, tell me. Revisions and constructive criticism is always welcome.**

* * *

The pit of Frisk's stomach dropped. "N-Nico! I didn't know you were, uh, looking too?" The startled pitch of their voice rose into a question. They were fearing he would think differently of them, misunderstand the situation. That they were just some weird freak who saw things and maybe he was better off without them. That he would go away and leave Chara with them, alone.

His look was scrutinizing, carefully taking in the area around them. His eyes landed on the knife.

The knife.

"Frisk," he says carefully. "Who were you talking to?"

The answer was so simple and yet so hard to deliver. All they could do was stutter for a desperate explanation, their mind working hard to sort out their words and their mouth not cooperating at all.

"Frisk," Nico repeats, and his tone is firmer. "Who?"

" _Chara_ ," they blurt. It was simpler than trying to express the situation, especially when _that_ idea had failed so fantastically.

"Oh. _That_ one."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, my dad knows them, alright. They lived a long time ago. They were a young demigod who slew monsters left and right with only a knife, reknowned as the best fighter the camp'd ever seen. Even since their first battle as a newbie, Chara had won nearly every sparring match, and they were against demigods with years of experience on them. It was rumored single strike from them could take down giants. Wrong, of course. They were just really aggressive, like they had a personal vendetta against monsters or something."

Frisk paled, if they hadn't already. Their fingers began to twitch feeling the ghost of a leather grip under their palm, warm with body heat, worn with use. That was the ugly thing: use. "What happened to them?"

He looked around briefly, checking for monsters, they assumed. Nico started walking back in the direction of camp, gesturing for Frisk to follow. "Come on. It's probably best if we talk about this somewhere else."

* * *

The newcomer had made it back to camp, crying and scared half to death, which was exactly how close he'd come with that knife.

They couldn't look anyone in the eye.

(Not that many thought the boy's accusations were true, even with all the evidence heard. The laughs, the yells, the broken wrist. But Frisk was so _merciful_ that no one could believe it.)

Speaking of the knife, it had been left behind in that spot of the woods. Neither Frisk or Nico had meant to. The weapon had been forgotten in the heat of confusion. Maybe, they thought, it was for the best, to keep themselves away from holding a weapon.

Nico held their hand, leading them into the Hades cabin where they could talk in private. He took a seat on his bed, Frisk sitting down next to him.

"Okay," he said. "You wanted to know about the Chara kid, right?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. This kid was really fast an aggressive. Not strong, just aggressive and pretty brutal. But eventually, they got fed up with the gods-I don't know why, but something made them angry enough to want to eradicate _everything,_ gods and demigods and mortals. They turned their knife on their own siblings and friends. Chara became heartless, and not even the monsters the gods sent to stop them worked. Every time the Olympians above looked around to smite them, they were gone. Demigods fled camp to hide, in woods, cities, and gods know where else.

"Eventually it was their own foolishness that got them killed. Wandering a forest for demigods, they began to starve, and in desperation, found a field of buttercups and ate them. Turns out they're lethally poisonous." Nico laughed, which was honestly a little unsettling.

Frisk paused for a second, then looked at him. "Wait a second. How'd you know which Chara I was talking about? The Underworld is full of every dead person ever, right?"

"I'm the son of Hades. I could sense a malicious Underworld presence up here. So tell me, Frisk-" he turned his whole body to face them, "- what does this have to do with _you?_ "

Their heart siezed and fear spiked. Even though it was only them in the dark cabin, and Nico was a close friend, it felt like he was interrogating them.

 _If you tell him, I'll kill him._

 _This is our little secret. Do you understand?_

"N-nothing! They uh, talked... err..."

Gods, _why_ did they have to open their mouth like that?

"Wh- hey! Frisk! Where are you going?"

[ *FLEE ]

* * *

Outside wasn't much better, really.

Too many stares and too many hushed conversations. Of course, there were _always_ both of those, since there was never a shortage of magical pranks and slips of gossip in Camp Half-Blood.

But looking around, there was noticeably more. They could only feel like it was all about them.

Frisk sat down on a bench in the middle of the cabin green, among the grasses, wild flowers, and scattered statues and fountains. With a heavy sigh they leaned back and slumped against the wooden back, staring at the sky, watching the clouds skirt the valley. Strange thing, magic weather shields. You stay at the camp for years and still you sometimes forget it exists. Absently, they wonder what the wind gods think of magic like this, and if they can bypass it. Probably. Zeus did it once.

Frisk's mind drifted to other meaningless thoughts, until their reverie was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. They turned their head and found Cecilia Harpwood, an African-American Demeter kid who had helped them attain the first seeds for the golden flowerbed.

"Hey," she said, sitting down. "New kid came blabberin' to me an' Allison, crying about you with a knife an' his wrist, hand or something. I don't believe a word he says, but judging by your grump, _somethin's_ gotta've happened."

They didn't respond, only sat up straigher, crossed their arms and looked back over the field.

Frisk didn't want to think about this. Any of this. The poor kid they'd traumatized for life. The demon living in their body with free control whenever it wanted. The knife in the woods, how badly things could have gone, Nico's suspicion about them and Chara.

"Come on, talk to me here."

They turn away. Stress is an overwhelming thing, especially when your friend's lives are at stake. They so badly wanted to tell someone, _to get help,_ anything, but not if they wanted Chara to kill their demigod family; and with Frisk in tow, forced to... to watch...

The thought makes them feel gross.

When they try to speak, their voice is quiet and cracked, edging towards tears. Their head is bent low. "Please leave me alone."

"Frisk?" Cecilia puts a hand on their shoulder. "Frisk, what's-"

Her hand is thrown off as they quickly turn to face her fully. They're angry and upset, on the border to crying.

"I _said-!_ "

Then she flinches.

That movement, that fear, is what gets them to stop. All their anger has drained out in an instant, replaced with guilt and regret. Frisk's arms drop to their sides, and they hunch again, pressing their eyes shut.

"Just... please go."

She goes.

They curls in on themselves, putting their head to their lap and wrapping their arms around it. They kick up their legs to rest beside them, so that they've reduced themselves to a tiny ball of big sweater.

Then they try not to cry too loudly.

Nobody bothers them until dinner.


	4. Part IV

**WHOA SORRY THAT THIS CHAPTER TOOK SO LONG, GUYS. I'm trying to sustain at _least_ a chapter a month. Plus, I only get writing late at night, and that's only if have time left, since I prioritize other things during that time.**

 **Also, warning for cursing in this chapter, but nothing totally obscene. Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

Dinner was... oddly enough, same as usual, with slightly inappropiate jokes and loud laughter filling the air as the campers ate in the dining pantheon. Or was it a pavilion? They didn't keep track. Perhaps the atmosphere felt no different than when they first emerged from the woods because many of the hushed conversations were overcome by the loudness of the more rowdy of the demigods. Since the pantheon was open-air, there were no acoustics and thank the gods for that because Frisk was sure that they'd get hearing loss if there were.

But while everyone may not have seen them crying, they all knew Frisk was having a particularly bad day, having been curled into their sweater on that bench for at least an hour. And those sitting around them at their table knew they'd been crying: their face was red enough, and you can't hide your face when you eat. The best they could hope for was that whatever was going on with their eyes could help hide _some_ of it, at least from afar. Chiron kept giving them worried looks. They didn't want the attention.

"And then I said-hey, Freesk, you alright?"

They jumped back into focus. Frisk hadn't realized they were staring at the steak knife the other demigod was waving around for emphasis duting conversation, campers next to him leaning away in case he accidentally sliced someone's eye out.

Normally the silly nickname was endearing, but...

They rubbed at their eyes. They hadn't been blinking, either. Ow.

"Freesk?"

"Yeah, I'm-I'm okay."

"If you say so." And just like that he was back to talking, like nothing had happened. Worked like magic. Smile. Nod. And that was all you had to do to get them to leave you alone.

(except nico. Frisk had the feeling he was still onto them.)

* * *

That night, Frisk went to bed late. Later than even Nico, hiding in the shadows of the cabins, from the harpies (who, admittedly, had some pretty bad detection skills) and other late-dwelling campers. Today had been pretty much entirely avoiding people.

Their creeping was silent from years of hiding from their parents and years of training at camp, with plenty of tricks learned over the years: wear socks on hard surfaces, or your feet will make sticking noises. Move creaky doors really quickly, they'll make less noise than easing them closed, but stop right before the lock. Patience is key. With those in mind, Frisk crept back into the Hades cabin, where they slept, because Nico was alone there and Frisk was a close friend with no real place to stay. They also usually wake up and go to bed earlier than him, so he has his mornings and nights all to himself.

Their bunk was.. out of place from the rest of the dark cabin. They had decorational plastic ivy hanging over the side of it, bedecked in little fairy lights and vibrant flowers. There was a bright pink poster of some robot vocaloid named Mettaton on the wall above, and lots of little drawings on post-its, napkins, and actual paper around it. Their blanket was pastel blue and had yellow ducks on them.

Nico was sleeping. Or at least, he looked like it. Frisk's socks made virtually no sound on the floor as they crept towards their bunk. They almost made it.

Their body seized up. A chill wracked their body, and then it relaxed. Their fingers flexed as Chara got used to them again, twisting their back and stretching a little. They stalked back to Nico's bunk. An outside viewer would see them as a looming shadow over him, quiet as the silence surrounding them, like a shade of sleep paralysis. Chara had no weapon. They would have to make do.

Their hands shot down against Frisk's will. Nico had opened his eyes a split second before they started to strangle him, but a split second too late; he couldn't grab his sword, a knife, a weapon, and he was _suffocating_. Nico struggled desperately, thrashing against one of his best friends, and through his clouding vision he could see it: open eyes, red eyes. Frisk _never_ went beyond aggressive squinting.

That's when he thought, _oh shit._

Nico grabbed their arms, more fiercely this time, a gleam in his eye. He was a child of Hades, dammit, he wasn't going to die like this; he hadn't gotten the title "Ghost King" for nothing. He used his power, his affinity with the Underworld, to try and force out the vengeful spirit, make it release its vice grip on both of them-and it worked. Halfway, that is.

Frisk did nothing short of _punch_ themselves in the face. It wasn't particularly hard, as they'd never really gotten the hang of fighting, but enough to send Chara reeling far back enough for them to regain more control of their own body, and that meant a chance. Frisk only had to hold out long enough for Nico to recover, and he could finish the job, right?

They held out. There was a point where Frisk purposely tangled half their body in a chair. Another where Chara was dragging tne half of the body they controlled to finish strangling Nico, as Frisk held on to their half and attempted to take back the rest. They couldn't, but they were sure as hell dead weight to the other. Especially when Frisk hooked their leg to one of the opposite bunk's posts, using it as an anchor.

But in general, it was a quiet mess. Neither party was trying to make too much sound. Chara didn't want to raise suspicion, and Nico thought that dragging unnecessary attention to this situation might raise problems. He didn't know how, only that it would, because people found such creative ways to make problems out of anything, and neither of them needed that.

Nico had his sword. Frisk's body was being held back by one person and urged forward by another.

"Are you done?" he asked.

It was that comment that stung Chara a little, that makes them tone down their struggle; a reaction given decades ago by childhood conditioning. It made them feel petty, but also that Nico was a condescending kid who thought he had more authority than he did. Except he was technically Lord Hades' demigod child, so they supposed he had more than enough authority, but that's besides the point.

"You," they snarl from another person's mouth, "cannot stop me."

"Hate to say this, but, uh." He makes a wide gesture to the entire cabin.

Frisk's face contorted into a twisted smile. Normally it would be disturbing on its own, but even more so coming from the face of someone usually so peaceful and placated. "You will not be my first," they say. "But you cannot rid of me. I will not leave without taking them with me. _I know you care about them_."

Oof. He was done. He was tired of being pushed around. Tired of being manipulated, emotionally or physically or mentally, and tired of these same things happening to the people he cares about, tired of his entire life being one big angst fest.

Unaware of a sudden radiation of blank terror and a slight drop in temperature in his anger, he points his sword at their neck. "Leave them alone."

Chara is quick to oblige, leaving Frisk with a leg around a bedpost and an expression of unadultered _fear._ Eyes open, eyes wide, looking up at Nico, a vestige left over from their possessor. But their panic is no less real. Um, oops.

This is the first time he'd gotten a good look at their eyes, actually. They were a gentle dark brown (or should have been, anyway) but no wonder Frisk was practically close-eyed all the time-from what he could see, their eyesight was absolute shit, grayed in a way that should not be a natural eye color. How the hell do they dodge so well?

Nico is snapped out of these sudden thoughts as Frisk realizes they havent moved and quickly unhooks their leg, stumbling onto the bed because the floor is uncomfortable. They don't care about Nico being scary. They don't care about him threatening them with a sword. They understand. They just... didn't expect things to end up this way.

But despite Frisk's forgiving nature, he can't help but be worried, that maybe he'd driven Frisk too far, driven them away. That after this, he'll be treated diffferently, distantly, and nothing will be the same between them. Like everone else who tried to be "friends," but ran away after seeing a bad side of him. Not even the worst side.

Nico sits down besides them. Frisk jumps a little at the close vicinity, but otherwise doesn't seem to mind.

"I'm sorry for that," he says.

"It's fine." Their voice is small.

"... Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

There is no response. If Chara was going to kill anyone they told about their existence in their body... well, they technically didn't tell him. This time was Chara's fault. But they could just as easily come up with some unspoken rule that they'd kill anyone they told as to _why_ they didn't tell anyone, or how this happened.

"Frisk, answer me."

Silence.

He asks again. "Please."

...

"I was afraid."

 _I was afraid._  
 _I was afraid._  
 _I was afraid._

 _What are you afraid of?_


	5. Part V

**Content warning for some pretty blatant mentions of child abuse this chapter.**

 **I'm sorry.**

* * *

Once upon a time, two kids shared a body.

* * *

"Nico."

"Nico, please."

"Nico, please, answer me-I don't want to-I can't I can't do it, isn't there any other place I can…"

He looked away.

* * *

Frisk didn't have the best childhood.

Or the best parents.

Neither did Chara.

At least they have something in common: what they fear. Well, a few fears, anyway.

Both of them are afraid. One of them is angry-the other is understanding, but still, they are afraid, and quite hurt.

Frisk's "problem" was brought up by Nico with Chiron and Dionysus (and by extension, the gods) but not announced to the rest of the campers so as not to cause mass panic. How would a group of armed teenagers with magic powers react to a murderer among their ranks, even if it was only by possession? There were definitely a few unruly kids who would jump at any opportunity to cause disorder, and not just the Ares children. But there is still a problem besides possession. Part of that problem is probably that the discussion was not brought up with Frisk's knowledge. Neither were the methods to handle it, nor were their feelings or opinions taken into much account.

And they were definitely _not_ okay with it.

Honestly? Being tied down in the basement of the Big House was probably not the best way to keep down a genocidal murderer, but there wasn't much else to do about it, unless you wanted to lock them up somewhere worse.

They put up a fight, oh, did they put up a fight. One side significantly more than the other, but even still- neither wanted to be dragged down and tied like some _animal_. Especially Chara. It dredged up bad feelings, bad memories, and _fear._

And a lot of hurt, because Nico pushed those aside.

Frisk understood. Oh, they knew that this must take its toll on his already not-very-okay emotional state, and how else to keep down a genocidal maniac and a friend simultaneously?-but even still, they _really did not want this._

* * *

 _Chara wasn't the greatest person._

 _But really, it wasn't their fault._

 _Their mortal and step-parent did not like them, preferring their two step-siblings over them by far. Chara was the child no one wanted. They were the child whose parents liked to pretend didn't exist. They were to be tied down to the metal bed in the basement, and beaten if calling out for help or otherwise. The food given to them was anything left over. Their only luxury was the numerous books kept down there with them, old stories and encyclopedias and dictionaries. To make things worse, their siblings would be punished if they tried to help them-what happened, Chara didn't know. But they suspect part of the reason they were kept down there is that their parents became afraid. Afraid of Chara. Afraid of what they would do should they be let loose. Afraid of what they would do to them._

 _Laugh away the pain. Crying out or yelling would just make it worse. The more it hurt, the more you laugh, and if it was funny maybe it would hurt less. (It didn't.)_

 _It was dark. And cold. And it hurt._

 _And they hated._

* * *

 _Frisk isn't necessarily the greatest person either._

 _They're a pathological liar. They keep too many secrets. They forget things a lot. They're too sensitive, too defensive._

 _But while their one mortal parent wasn't too nice either, they were given more freedom than Chara ever had with their parents. Frisk played guitar. They went to a (not so great, but still) school. Despite this they were still pretty put-down, yelled and spat and snapped at. They weren't tied down, but when things really got bad, Frisk was locked in the basement, full of concrete and dust and cobwebs._

 _They distanced themself. They locked away their emotions. They stamped down those weeds in their garden until they died (but killed everything else in the process), smothered the pea under a hundred mattresses (but they could still feel it), choked back all their tears (but all it felt like was choking). Frisk hid who they were until everything fell into bleak routine._

 _Both Chara and Frisk carry(ied) the scars under their sweaters._

 _Both were on the brink of death until their satyrs brought them to Camp Half-Blood. That was the first time either of them were ever told they were special, or worth much at all._

 _Isn't it sad that it took the blood of gods for them to think they were more than nothing? This is what humans do. No wonder Zeus tried to flood the world._

* * *

 _It's quiet. It's cold. They're curled on the floor, the door opens, and their chest clutches with fear-_

They awaken.

At first they don't remember what's going on, until they try to get up and pain burns like fire, sparking from their wrists and jumping up their arms like electricity. Frisk cries out. Looking backwards they see just how badly the skin had been torn where rope bound them, when the two had been straining to escape; the skin is red and raw with patches and breaks of blood(?) beneath, the same look when you scratch the same spot far too many times, along with _actual_ bleeding little wounds.

Their bindings are tied to a square, metal support pillar in the center of the basement. There's almost no slack, but they can move up and down. The rope slips across the painted metal.

Chara growls through their mouth. Frisk hums in frustration.

It's not the situation they were hoping for.

…

"I don't think you're really a demon."

A scoff. Liar.

They both know Frisk isn't lying. Thoughts are shared.

"I don't know why you do this. I don't understand it. I don't like it. But you have a good reason for it, don't you?"

Silence.

* * *

Days.

They're getting real sick of being bound to the same spot.

* * *

As time passes, the noises from the basement begin to increase in frequency and volume at an alarming rate.

Bangs, thuds, frustrated groans and bored moaning. Every passing hour they grow more and more irritated, especially Chara, who would have probably started gnawing at the rope if they were flexible enough to bend over.

Just kidding, I'm exaggerating. But you get the picture.

And, of course, the Big House is not soundproofed from room to room. If they stopped to listen, they could hear anything going on above. Many-a-time, conversation about the "situation in the basement" as Dionysus so kindly referred to them as, were overheard. He liked to keep suggesting the idea of using godly power to just plain obliterate the spirit while still inside, or just combust Frisk, both of which Chiron consistently knocked down. One of the most likely ideas is expunging Chara from Frisk's body before sending them back to the Underworld to be in Hades' version of a maximum security prison-but the problem with that...

 _"It would take an immense amount of power to do this. Yes, it is little in comparison to the magic of a god, but even a demigod's body can only hold so much magic, especially one of likely minor godly descent. This spectre is unnaturally powerful-I can feel its raw determination from even here. The amount of energy needed to rid of them would almost certainly permanently damage Frisk."_

 _"Permanent damage or not, I'm not gonna let a little maniac run around my camp. Zeus will extend my sentence if he sees all these kids dying left and right."_

 _"I will not rule it out. But it should be a last resort."_

 _It,_ Chara had thought bitterly. He calls me an _"it."_

They laughed, of course. It felt so much lik . Being no more than a thing. Tied down in the basement. Avoided as much as possible. It made them sick.

* * *

They were getting louder. Bumps to bangs, moans to growls.

* * *

 _"Nico."_

He turns around to find Chiron trotting towards him. While his gait suggests casualness, the way his tail swishes and the way his expression is set suggests underlying panic. "I must speak with you. Come." He puts a hand to Nico's back, ushering him to the Big House. The two go at a pace slow enough to draw minimal attention.

Nico sits down in one of the many chairs, tossing Seymour a Snausage. "Chiron, what's going on?"

"Listen closely, Nico. What do you hear?"

At first, he didn't hear much aside from the usual. The chatter of campers outside, Seymour chewing loudly on his food, the ambient howls of monsters from the forest.

But as time whittled on, it struck him; something was missing. Frisk's strains were silent.

The bottom of his stomach dropped.

The expression on his face was not missed by the centaur. He nods grimly.

"That is right. They have escaped. And we do not know where they are."

"Chiron, how did this happen? I thought you were keeping an eye on them! Heck, _Dionysus_ was practically guarding them. A god! How could-"

"Nico, this is not the time. Right now you must warn the campers to be on their best guard and never to travel alone. We both know how dangerous Chara can be. Now go. Go!"

He wanted to protest, wanted to keep arguing, but he was right. His concerns were second priority. He had to warn the campers before someone uninformed went ahead and died. Nico begrudgingly accepts, then vanishes into the shadows.

 _We do not know where they are._


End file.
